


Cartography of Manhattan

by melliyna



Category: West Wing
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, New York City, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:10:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melliyna/pseuds/melliyna





	Cartography of Manhattan

_**Cartography of Manhattan**_  
**Title:** Cartography of Manhattan  
**Author:** [](http://melliyna.livejournal.com/profile)[**melliyna**](http://melliyna.livejournal.com/)   
**Fandom:** West Wing  
**Pairing:** Gen  
**Rating:** PG   
**Word Count:** 1,000   
**Disclaimer:** Property and creation of Aaron Sorkin, not me   
**Warnings/Timeline/Spoilers:** Fluff, spoilers for all seven seasons   
**A/N:** For the Toby and Sam ficathon, from [](http://mcgarrygirl78.livejournal.com/profile)[**mcgarrygirl78**](http://mcgarrygirl78.livejournal.com/)'s prompts. I took both and combined them a bit and hope this is at least an okayish response.

It begins again in sunrise in Manhattan. Or rather it begins at something that resembles a beginning of a new Sam Seaborn, one little boy, one little girl, a whole bunch of toys, two little lives and a whole jumble of books. There's a map on the wall, Toby notices that could be of fairyland, but has more than a suggestion of Narnia, Middle Earth or the Enchanted Forest.

Because Sam reads to them, traces the shapes of the maps in the books, sounding out the names, the phrases upon the map. Long fingers, against pencil drawings on paper – Sam makes them come alive in that special way that parents do, when they read to their children.

Years before, he'd made some tapes for Huck and Molly, so they could hear his voice at night, at the time that you read bedtime stories to your kids. He wanted them to have that, even if it was only a voice coming from a tape recorder, with their father somewhere else, somewhere called jail. He'd mapped their faces to his memory too, not wanting to think about trusting photos, cheap snapshots stuck to crumbling cinderblock. Cell block parenting couldn't have sufficed, couldn't have kept up with the way Molly would smile at a particular story, the way her interested waxed and waned. The way Huck became less scared, as the books got longer. The way they both refused to say Voldemorts' name.

And now he watches Sam, who has sunshine shine upon him in New York. They meet in Central Park, as it comes alive in the summer – exchanging notebooks, banter, political news and books. And Sam carries a little life against his chest, in that easy reverent way that only Sam could have. It was a beautiful line, direction you could trace with Sam and those two small beings, which would certainly not be told to go back to bed or denied a cookie. And then, not entirely unexpectedly either, you'd find that he could be firm, if only in that quiet, determined Sam way that would persuade someone to do the right thing because it was the right thing.

They began in a sunrise, in New York with Josh, Sam and an early morning hotdog. He hadn't meant Sam then, but in marking the direction, the cartography of their life, their togetherness; it began there – that path towards each other, towards debates, donuts and the crafting of a vision, of a legacy in words.

It begins again, in New York City, with Jed Bartlet gone and what should have been a lifetime between them. But somehow, in the sunshine of the morning, the map is redrawn – children, politics, words and a smiling Sam, who induces Toby in to a hot dog. Toby is trying to induce Sam in to running, into crafting a new and better story. It is an old debate, but they revisit it, in between banter about pie, about writing and obliquely, about themselves.

And Toby wonders how it comes to this, this strange bond between them. Of course they all read to their kids. Of course they do - books, metaphors, words on the page. CJ doesn't so much read as make it a performance, she and Maggie spinning a play out together, props and voices included. One baby, resting on Sam's chest, a warm little life. One toddler, looking with rapt expression as his father laughs with joy, over the way the words come to life.

It's strange to him, that this should have become a familiar pattern. A family map, of life beyond, of children and the continuance of an unlikely political story. But this is their cartography now, him and Sam and New York City, children playing and a baby sleeping in the morning sun.


End file.
